


True Worth

by anysin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, Dark Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Dirty Talk, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Hand Jobs, M/M, Mind Control, Nipple Play, Riding, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vaginal Sex, implied Elias/Peter - Freeform, implied Peter/Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: In the Lonely, Jon puts Peter in his place.
Relationships: Peter Lukas/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	True Worth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [j_quadrifrons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/gifts).



> For the Tumblr prompt "look at me when you come, slut" with sub!Peter! Hope you'll like it, J.
> 
> Words used for Jon's anatomy: cunt, hole.

For the first time in his life, Peter finds himself naked under the gaze of the Eye.

He never thought Elias was a man of restraint, not really, but he has been proved wrong. Elias may be full of tricks and sweet, slippery lies, but for all his deception, he has never violated Peter's mind, never peeled it and spread it open wide. _That's_ Jonathan Sims's doing, his assault relentless as he pulls Peter's story out of him, word by painful word. Peter struggles, he really does, but he can't stop his mouth from opening up, his secrets from spilling. He is helpless, and he knows he will remain so until there is nothing left.

His worst nightmare has come true.

The most horrifying thing is, it feels _good_.

Peter has collapsed down into the sand of the shore, his breathing heavy as he keeps talking, giving up the details of his youth. The Archivist looms over him, his face as hard as a stone, his eyes cold as he glares down at Peter. Peter meets the Archivist's eyes, summoning all the hatred inside him into his own eyes so he can match the ice in the Archivist's stare. He hopes the Archivist knows how much Peter despises him.

The Archivist knows _something_ , because his eyes widen before narrowing into furious little slits, and he steps over Peter, leaning down so he can grasp the front of Peter's sweater.

"You tried to seduce Martin," the Archivist hisses.

If his mouth wasn't too busy babbling, Peter would bark out a bitter laugh; the whole point of whatever was between him and Martin in the end was that it came down to nothing. He holds his eye contact with the Archivist, stares into him to let him know how little his rage matters to him.

The Archivist frowns, his hold on Peter loosening. But instead of stepping away, he crouches down, pressing his knees into the sand on the each side of Peter's torso, his body hovering over Peter's as his eyes turn thoughtful. He rests one hand down on Peter's chest, feeling it heave.

Peter stares up at him, his heartbeat picking up in speed even though his voice still remains calm, still mercilessly telling his story.

The Archivist smiles, and sits down right into Peter's lap.

Peter's cheeks burn when he becomes aware of his cock straining against his trousers, pushing through them against the Archivist's narrow buttocks as his arse nestles against Peter's groin.

"You thought you meant something to him," the Archivist says, rubbing down against him. He runs his hand over to Peter's left pec, finding and pinching his nipple through Peter's sweater. The thick material softens the pinch a little bit, but it still makes Peter's voice crack, even though his story continues uninterrupted.

"You are nothing, Peter Lukas. You are just a filthy animal, a body to use and nothing more. He didn't care about you." The Archivist lifts his hips up, taking his hands down to the front of Peter's trousers. He unbuckles Peter's belt, unbuttons and unzips his trousers, digs inside for his cock. "But that's how you like it, don't you?"

The Archivist's fist strokes up his cock and a moan breaks through Peter's words, his back arching against the sand. The Archivist doesn't waste time, his fingers firm and tight around Peter's cock as he jerks him off, his other hand slipping underneath Peter's sweater, stroking his stomach and chest. His hands are different from what Peter is used to, slender and soft, but Peter's body responds to them, his hips twitching as he thrusts up into the Archivist's fist, his voice fading into whimpers and cries as the Archivist pinches and twists his nipples.

"Slut." The Archivist pulls his hand out from beneath Peter's sweater, releases Peter's cock. "Perhaps I'm doing you a favor here."

Peter is panting now, even as he still keeps talking, his story now nearing the most painful part. As he watches, the Archivist unfastens his own trousers, pushing them and his underwear down. Peter's cock gives a jerk as he sees how slick and gleaming the Archivist's cunt is, his voice hiking up into a pitch it hasn't reached in years as the Archivist moves his hips over Peter's cock, grasping it as he guides its leaking head to his wet hole.

He bucks beneath the Archivist as the Archivist takes Peter's cock inside him, his cunt tight as it squeezes around Peter's cock, wrapping it into its wet warmth. As he talks about Gertrude Robinson, about his dream of a world ending in his name crumbling down, the Archivist starts to move up and down on his cock, riding it, curling his slim fingers around Peter's throat.

"Look at me when you come, you whore," the Archivist demands, taking him into the root, and Peter can't help himself anymore; he thrusts up into the Archivist, thrusts and thrusts and thrusts as he gasps for breath underneath the Archivist's hands, underneath the stare of the Eye, underneath the disappointment of his own God. His hips stutter, his balls drawing up tight as the Archivist slams his hips down and draws him all the way in again, gripping his cock tight with his cunt as Peter spills his seed inside him.

All along, they keep staring at each other, and even the Archivist's eyes aren't so cold anymore.

Peter falls down against the sand, his breaths deep and heavy as his cock twitches weakly inside the Archivist, as he sees his own semen trickle out of the Archivist's snug cunt. He is finally out of words, his voice gone, his brain empty.

"This is what you are good for, Peter Lukas," the Archivist tells him, his voice almost gentle. "To be used. That's what Martin did, that's what I did, that's what Elias did. Don't think you have any other worth."

The Archivist pulls himself off, staring down at his groin with disdain as he seeks out his trousers, searching the pocket for a handkerchief.

Peter could argue his case, say something back. But as he rests there in the sand, he becomes painfully aware of the fact that he doesn't really have a counter-argument at all.


End file.
